


Un Seul Etre Vous Manque...

by Airelle



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-03
Updated: 2012-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-28 19:57:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airelle/pseuds/Airelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How to deal with illness when it strikes?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Un Seul Etre Vous Manque...

**Author's Note:**

> First published in DARK FANTASIES 6, 1999  
> To my knowledge, this story has never appeared before on an Internet archive.  
> This story is lovingly dedicated to two persons: my little Tigrou, who stayed with me such a short time and departed too young; and to a man I’ve never met, my father’s childhood friend, whose manner of death inspired the end of this story. They will not be forgotten.

Bodie was dead.

All life on earth, every single person or animal living now, was going to die one day or another.

So why was this single death such a catastrophe?

For most of the people of earth, it wasn't. For most of the people of earth, Bodie's death was not even a statistic in some obscure report. For who ever read such statistics?

It was an untimely death. But so was that of the numerous persons killed in road accidents, or dying from various, undeserved diseases.

Was there such a thing as a _deserved_ disease?

Aids? A punishment for sexual freedom? Lung cancer? A punishment for bad living habits?

Bodie could have caught Aids a hundred times over. But he didn't. He did not smoke, and, quite adequately, did not die from lung cancer. So, why had he to die at all?

Killed in action; Doyle could have understood that. It was, after all, the greatest hazard of their lives. They had always, more or less, lived with the fact that they would not grow old enough to collect their pension.

Even after they became lovers, and began to make plan for the future, the notion of an early death had always been an unspoken part of their relationship, although an uneasy one. Then, when the time came to retire from the A squad and to begin a new career as consultants, that threat had seemed to vanish altogether. At last, they could begin to feel safe and to _really_ plan a life of their own. Together...

Then it struck. Quite discreet, at first. Creeping up like a thief in a dark alley. Tiredness. But they were pushing fifty. One cannot expect to be in the same incredibly good shape all his life. There were allowances to be made; time took his toll, and so on. Still, there were mornings when Bodie could barely get up. Doyle began to worry. He was, after all, two years older than his partner, and didn't feel quite the same disturbing symptoms. He managed to persuade his lover to consult. There was some tiresome months of going round from one specialist to another, no-one finding anything definite, but indicating that _something_ was wrong. Very wrong.

So, when the verdict came, it was no longer a surprise to Doyle. Or to Bodie. They had not talked much about it, but they'd seen Bodie's condition steadily deteriorating. Bodie was no fool; neither was Doyle. They knew it was serious indeed. The last specialist confirmed it. Bone cancer. With a lot of metastasis. It had gone undetected so far for medical reasons Doyle did not fully understood, and could not have given a damn about. Bodie was confronted to a choice: chemotherapy, with very little possibility of curing such an advanced cancer, and all the side effect inherent to such a treatment, or simple pain medication. Well, the doctors did not exactly _give_ him the choice. He was presented with the first option, and, upon dismissing it altogether, extracted from the specialist the second one. The man did not like it. Doctors did not seem to like people to die out of their jurisdiction. Even if a fellow was a goner, they wanted to do their bit.

Doyle was glad Bodie had had the strength to ask all the details. It was gruesome, but the alternative was worse. Dying anyway, maybe a few months later, debilitated, hairless, and even more exhausted than he presently was. It was not a future Bodie wanted for himself.

After the fact, it seemed quite obvious to Doyle that Bodie would not want to wait out for the end. Suicide, he had always despised, Doyle knew. The easy way out. But ending one's life when all hope was lost, and suffering became unendurable, that was quite something else. He would have done it for an animal, _had_ done it in Angola for a fellow mercenary - even if the memories still woke him up screaming from time to time, some thirty years later. It had been necessary, and he'd done it.

 

Yet, his lover had not voiced his decision. He had been strong enough to make it and keep it to himself. Talking had not been necessary, in a way. They had always relied on that unspoken communication of theirs which was, at times, almost telepathic. Simply, Bodie knew that Doyle knew. There was nothing to be done. So, Doyle took an indefinite leave of absence. With their joint savings, and some clever investment they'd made along the years, they could last quite a long time.

Long enough.

Bodie could not save Doyle the last trauma. He would have, if it had been possible at all, Doyle was sure. But there were no official ways to finish it. Not until you were a condemned man in a death penalty country. For this most terrible of condemnation, death by disease, there was no reprieve. Unless one took matters in his own hands, and did what was necessary.

So Bodie put an end to his life by shoving his gun in his mouth. A clean, sure way to die, although not so clean for the ones left behind. He'd waited as long as he could. Of that, Doyle had not doubt. He'd left a brief note, telling his mate of his love, and begging him not to enter the bedroom when he came back home.

Doyle went into the bedroom. He felt he owed it to this brave man, who had wanted to spare him all he could. He had been suspecting for a few days that Bodie was in more pain than he cared to let on.

The scene was terrible. The fallen gun; blood and brains splattered everywhere. But a calm face, with the shadow of a smile lingering on the beautiful lips. His life; his choice. Doyle closed the unseeing eyes, and went to do all the things one has to do when death strikes.

He understood the reasons for Bodie's action. He missed his friend, but could not begrudge him his last conscious decision. He blamed society for the horror of it all, not the freedom of the changeling soul who had filled his days and enchanted his nights.

That was the greatest burden of death, Doyle understood as he turned from the fresh grave: Bodie's suffering has ended. His own was only beginning.

 

Un seul être vous manque, et tout est dépeuplé.

 _You have lost one person, and the whole world feels empty_

 Lamartine

 


End file.
